Memory's Ghost
by PenguinLoverXD
Summary: "What... What do you mean dead?" The male asked bewildered with as much of a monotone voice as he could manage. "he can't be dead. My-" he let his emotions slip but quickly caught guard of himself "I mean..." He cleared his throat. " He can't be dead..." (I apologize for the horrible summary. Enjoy C: Have napkins ready :3)
1. Major John Watson

**((AN: Hello C: First order of business, I hope you enjoy this story C: Second, I warn you now that my Beta reader cursed my existence... so have tissues ready. I sincerely hope you all cry, with the best of intentions ^.^and lastly, if you have any criticism ((constructive)) I will gladly take it. Don't be shy C:))**

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Sherlock opened the door of his apartment flat and found a strange, tall, lean and muscular male standing like a stone statue; the only source of life being his breath. One quick look of his uniform, the dried mud on the back of his shoes and the wet one that fell on the floor in front of the door told the male he was from the army and had traveled a long way to come here. Next the brunette looked at the ranks on the male's uniform; a general. The other thing he noticed a split second later was the way he had his shoulders slummed, even in the way that his stance seemed to be perfectly straight. John used to do that all the time when he worried about him but tried not to show it. John. The general brought bad news about John. He held his belonging in his hands.

"Don't tell me he got shot again..." The detective laughed "when is he coming back home?"

"What?" The male asked surprised as his eyes widened slightly

"Look, you have dried dirt on your boots which means you must've walked a long distance to get here. That and your pockets are diligently wrinkled which must mean you might've tried to get a cab but had no money. You also have mud sliding down them which means you stepped on that wet puddle outside before coming here. You're wearing an army uniform and have the embellishments of a general. You're also holding the belongings of my dear friend John and your shoulders are slightly slummed which means you bring bad news, so what is it?" The brunette asked

"Ah, well... Blimey sir, you are as impressive as John said!" The male brightened for a second before the sparkle in his eyes left. "Sir, John Watson is dead..."

"What... What do you mean dead?" The male asked bewildered with as much of a monotone voice as he could manage. "he can't be dead. My John-" he let his emotions slip but quickly caught guard of himself "I mean..." He cleared his throat. " John can't be dead..." The legs of Sherlock Holmes began to tremble although he showed no sign of struggle or pain as the general officer stood in front of him with a letter in his hands and the few of the things that the blonde once used to own.

"I am sorry to inform you." The other male bowed his head slightly and removed his hat exposing a clean, bald head "Major Watson was a great man and server of his country."

"Major? He told me he was Captain." Sherlock asked before raising a brow.

"Major Watson was promoted sir." The dark skinned male explained before extending his arms and placing the uniform that once belonged to the Major with its many decorative badges and pins that represented his rank; as well as the letter onto the extended hands that Sherlock had subconsciously placed.

"He always spoke about you sir. Every day and night about the wonderful adventures the both of you had." The young male attempted to sound as sincere as possible "The wonderful Sherlock Holmes. The man who could solve and deduct the simplest of details." He gave a shrugged smile "and he wasn't overdoing it."

"Yes, thank you..." Sherlock gave a slight nod "what is your name?" He asked

"General Willis, sir."

"Thank you general Willis." Sherlock was just about to close the door before the male saluted him.

"John had a dying wish sir. I was the last person he spoke to and he told me to go and find the small apartment flat 221B in Baker Street. I did it as a friend as well, but he said to tell you... He said to tell you what he never had the nerve to do in person."

"Yes? What is that?" Sherlock stopped for a fraction of a second, his own mind not having expected a secret from John Watson.

"He said to read the letter, and to keep living without him."


	2. The Impossible

**((AN: Enjoying the story so far? Hopefully! Here's more and enjoy~ :D))**

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Keep living without him? John had no idea how incredibly stupid his last request was. Why would he have wasted it on something as imbecilic as that? There was no way his request could be completed. Over the past couple of years John Watson had managed to weave himself into the fabric that was Sherlock Holmes' life. Everything and anything that brought joy to him somehow had the male involved in it. John was his first friend. The only man that had stood by his side whenever everybody else failed or turned on him. As a child Sherlock imagined him being the only person who would've stood up to all his bullies. As a teen, John would've done the same. Maybe even been there for him when he only needed the company of a person that wasn't the forced one his mother paid Mycroft to do. The blonde was there when Sherlock needed him. Even if he never told him so. Did he really know the importance he had in his life?

Whoever didn't know them would assume they were lovers. He guessed in a way, the brunette saw how they could surmise such a thing. Wherever Sherlock was, John would no doubt be as well. He was like a shadow; one that didn't bother. If the male took a step to the right John was sure to do so. Anything he'd ask for he'd get. Every time the male asked John to do a midnight shopping run he'd do so without hesitation. He might've been annoyed at his request but he did it either way. In a way, he was his lover. John had been the first person who had cared for him, and he was the first person Sherlock had cared for. They were just friends but they were definitely more than just flat mates. The private consultive detective had never managed to deduce that one.

Sherlock stared at the uniform and letter in his hands. Why did the general have to follow through with his word? Why did he have to give him the letter? Why did he give him the male's uniform?! And why did the man who had worked so hard to never let anybody into his heart feel like he would fall to his knees and sob if he took just another step or moved the slightest bit. He never cried, and even if it was John Watson who it was for he wasn't going to do so. He always knew something like this would happen. Everybody left him in the end, but for a split second Sherlock had made the witless mistake of believing that John would be the only one who didn't. Sherlock wanted to toss everything away. He wanted to sheer, crumble, tear and rip the uniform and the letter apart but he just didn't have the will or power to do so. No, not to John's things.

The last actions that John took bewildered him, they left him stupefied. To say something he never had the nerve to say before? To read a dull letter? Nothing heartfelt? A little sentimental? That seemed more like John; but to read a letter? What could be so important of the darn thing? His curiosity got the best of him and he found himself doing what he thought and swore he never would. Crying.


	3. A Letter and Three Words

**((AN: Some tears might flow here~ :3 depends :P but I sincerely hope you are enjoying the story~))**

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_'To my dear Sherlock,_

_Unfortunately, if you are reading this letter it must mean I have perished or you've been going through my things again and I order you this instant to tuck the letter away! Unless of course, I have given it to you for read.'_

"That's more like him..." Sherlock mumbled aloud and found himself with a slight, painful smile that tore his heart in half.

_'I just wanted to say what an amazing friend you were to me. I trusted you with my life as I hope you trusted me with yours. We were Sherlock-and-John, a team. The best team there was in the world. I know you're not the most... Affectionate person but for my sake please cope. What I'm about to tell you is something dear to my heart..._

_Attached to the back of this letter is the combination to my bank account. Just ask for a girl named Sarah and say your name, give her the combination and she'll know what to do. The name of my lawyer is also attached, but first you have to give him a key to a small box which is why you must go to the bank first. That key is the only way you can open my will._

_I have left everything in my possession to you. I have no family, friends, or lover to leave anything for except you. It is my dying wish that you take the money at least and have a good, sufficient and steady life. I know I'm not important to you in any way but somehow you've become my world; for the sake of making myself feel important I'm telling you to learn to live without me.'_

"So he didn't know..." The thought only made Sherlock's heart tear into smaller pieces. The weight of the organ increasing with each pulse like adding a lead weight to force it down.

_'I want you to learn to love and let other people into your heart. They don't have to be many. You could start by being nicer to Mycroft.'_

The male let out a snort. Start being nicer to his brother. Fat chance. There was no way the two could stand to be in the same room for a long period of time unless John was in the equation. The realization was like another stab to his heart. Without John. How could life be without John? Sherlock had never thought about that, but now he was forced to.

_'You're probably laughing at this now but I really want you to try. If I can love you, then somebody else can._

_That brings me to my last and final subject; why this letter is so important. Why you're only seeing it as a result of my death or because I've become impatient with waiting. Just like I'll become impatient if you have continued to read this and have avoided my first warning while you were searching through my things. Stop reading and put it back if that's the case Sherlock.'_

The male felt his dry laughter, but his eyes didn't want to shift from the paper with John's handwriting. The last letter he would ever receive from him.

_'I wrote this letter right before being deported to war to express something I've had locked in my chest for ages. I know you're the best detective that can catch anything in the world and you probably already know, but rejection is a human fear; and I fear your rejection the most._

_I was supposed to give it to you just before I left, but knowing myself I'll chicken out of it and later regret it. Which I do, because I might be dead. Let me just be blunt and to the point about this. There's no point about babbling on although you might consider this babbling..._

_I love you.'_

The slip of paper suddenly felt as though it weighted a thousand tons. His hands paled and his whole body felt rigid and cold. He should've dropped the paper, stopped reading, forgotten the words that had completely shattered his heart and just burned the horrible memory away. Instead he found himself reading it more, desperate to find a clue and a reason why he had never caught on to that before. Suddenly everything made sense and the only thing Sherlock wished to do was drop the cursed sheet of paper and curl up into a ball. But he was incapable of doing so.

_'Wow. Even writing that down took a lot of mental beating and courage. I'm exhausted. You can laugh though. I know you'll find this idiotic and a waste of paper. I just had to let it out. You charmed your way into my heart the instant I met you. I've had more adventures with you in the past couple of years than in my entire life combined. I've learned so much, like how to see the world in a different way. Your way. You've opened my eyes and I can't thank you enough. Every time somebody did ask if we were married, lovers or a couple I'd get nervous because I knew it was yet another person who noticed the way I looked at you and how I tried to impress you. Yes, I tried to impress you and like I thought it would be, without a doubt it was impossible. You were the one who impressed me and took my breath away. I apologize if I've caused you any inconvenience but its been several years since I've wanted to say those words, so before I finish this letter I'll say them again..._

_Sherlock Holmes, I love you'_


	4. What Could Have Been

**((AN: KEEP READING! THE HEART BREAK WILL COME SOON~! 3))**

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His whole world seemed to come crashing down and collapse into his lungs and heart. Sherlock couldn't take the pain. For once, he couldn't. There was no doubt about it; John Watson had found a way and slowly slipped in and smuggled his heart to rupture it in the end and leave him cold and limb in the hard ground like he was at the moment.

The best and only private consultive detective in the world, asked to help her majesty himself and able to deduce everything and anything around him hadn't deduced what was clearly there. That was now clearly there but rudely taken away by the cruelty of the universe. A world that Sherlock always avoided but secretly hoped for. Now that the chance was gone, that his head had been slammed by a closing door he had never noticed was when he caught on.

What could've been. That's what had Sherlock Holmes collapsed in the ground crying. Sobbing. Clutching and crumbling the sheets of paper in his hands for the sake of something to hold. Reaching for the folded uniform and crushing the fabric as he pulled it closer to himself. All he wanted was to remember the scent of him but it only brought more images of what could've been.

Was this death? The agonizing pain in his chest that made his lungs burn every time he forced himself to breath. How heavy and painful every beating of his heart that wasn't John's was. The way all of his body seemed to collapse in itself and leave him on the ground like a squirming fish out of water? He welcomed it. Welcomed death to swallow him whole but it never did. It just left him on the ground struggling and gasping for breath, but still breathing.

Sherlock never realized because he didn't want to or because he was afraid. For once, he didn't know. Sherlock Holmes didn't know anything except that he had finally learned to love. That he had always loved John Watson, but now it was too late. He had peaked in and the door had slammed shut. Now he cursed every force, deity, God or gods that ran the universe for taking his John away.


	5. The Last Goodbye

**((AN: This part is Sherlock recalling a memory. I would do the dialogue in italics but I'm too lazy and ain't nobody got time for that. I should be sleeping by now :P but enjoy~ C:))**

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"Junk mail, junk mail... More junk mail..." Sherlock mumble as he tossed the letters onto the table. "Letter for you John, it's from the military." He quickly mumbled tossing it to the blonde before continuing in his own business.

"From the military...?" John raised a brow before opening it and expecting the validity of the message. It was a legitimate letter. A slight worry came over him.

The blue eyes of the male widened as he continued to scan the message and its contents.

"John, can you be a dear and go get some groceries? I need some-"

"I'm being deployed back to Afghanistan. They're running out of armed forces and my experience makes me qualified. In the letter it says the military is desperate for resources and my service would be most appreciated."

The brunette paused, pursing his lips, his stomach dropping as tried his best not to let his emotions get the best of him. He cleared his throat before finally speaking, "Isnt it a bit late to be asking for reinforcements? I mean you already got used to civilian life..." He muttered flipping through the  
letters once again. "And we're in the middle of a case. They can't just pull you back whenever they feel like it..." Sherlock said in a slight hissing tone, he knew they could but all he knew is that he didn't want John to leave for war.

"Sherlock, it's the military. They can do whatever they please, and I'm not exactly used to civilian life. At least not with you around. My life is anything but ordinary, and I thank you that..." He smiled slightly "and I'm sure you already have that mystery solved in your head. You just haven't said anything yet."

Sherlock frowned before nodding slowly, "True..." He muttered. "It was the mother who killed the girlfriend. All signs were there; the aggravated slightly fearful look whenever we mentioned the victim's name, the shoes caked with the same sand where we found the body, the knife hastily hidden in a jacket pocket still with Victoria's blood dried on the metal... Not really the most challenging case I've gotten."

"You see. You don't need me at all. I'm barely of any use." John stood up and patted the dust away "if you excuse me, I'll be going to wash, iron, and press my uniform once again Sherlock. Duty calls. I must protect my country. And with it I get to protect you" he said "I'm sure the other nations have heard of the wonderful Sherlock Holmes and might want you for some secret service"

"No, no, I rather stay in Baker Street for now." Sherlock waved his hand in a dismissive motion "And with you gone, who will keep Mrs. Hudson company?" He smiled crookedly as he placed the mail down before picking up his tea cup and taking a sip of the coffee.

"I'm sure you will Sherlock. I know you'll find a way. I'll come back eventually. It's not like I'll leave you forever. I promise to come back."

"You better, I enjoy your company" That was the only amount of emotion that the male would allow himself to express to the blonde.

"I promise." John smiled enjoying the second of affection while it lasted "I'll come back one way or the other back to you."

John looked at his reflection and fixed his stance. He was a soldier once again, no more slouching around for him. He straightened his hat and patted the dust off of his uniform before making sure there were no wrinkles before he grabbed his bags and stepped out to the front door.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye for now old friend" John gave a charming smile as he turned to salute him "thank you for everything."

"Good luck, John," Sherlock looked up from the computer, smiling trying to force down his disappointment. "And you're welcome, goodbye John Watson, return home soon."

John smiled at the attempt of affection as he pressed his pockets down and made it seem like he were only fixing his uniform as he searched for a letter he had written. Could he hand it to him? No. Not yet. It wasn't the time.

"I will." The male smiled "don't get yourself killed while I'm gone. Be safe Sherlock."

"You know that isn't going to last very long." Sherlock chuckled turning to the computer. "But Ill try to stay out of trouble the best I can."

"Good. That at least warms my heart a bit."

"And dont send me letters alright?" Sherlock added, his throat seeming to be a bit clogged. He tried to push his cracked voice and willed himself not to cry. He never cried. "I really don't have time to read sentimental pieces of paper and then respond; you are coming back arent you?"

"I am" John nodded in understanding. He knew Sherlock wasn't one to show feelings, but he was trying. "We can catch up when I return"

"Yes, yes," Sherlock smiled slightly over his shoulder. "Good bye John, safe travels." The male mumbled.

"Goodbye Sherlock Holmes. I- hope to see you soon..." Those were the last words Sherlock and John exchanged before the blonde male opened the door and left apartment flat 221B in Baker Street.


	6. Coping With Your Memory

**((AN: Enjoying the story so far? Hopefully ^^ It's almost finished C:))**

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He had to get up. He still had a job. In the midsts of his torture he had to stand up and go to work. There was one sure thing in the world and that was that Sherlock Holmes loved his job more than anything else; but the torture wouldn't stop there.

Anderson spoke as Sherlock neared the victim "The glass on the front door is broken, which means it was a break and entering that went wrong."

"Yes Anderson, that is quite obvious. Did you actually look this time? I doubt it. You're probably taking credit for the job that some other, more intellectually advanced being did for you." Sherlock squatted down to look at the evidence but only a few things stood out. First he blamed Anderson for lowering his IQ but even after he left nothing clicked.

It felt odd to come into a crime scene without his shadow. Somehow he needed the assistance. He needed John to point out obvious things so Sherlock could baffle him by adding up the clues and telling him how he had noticed the details before him, hearing his low and silent amazed breath. He needed John to make average questions so he could ask him genius questions that only baffled him more. Why couldn't he see anything like before? He had worked alone before the male came into his life and when he had been deployed. Why couldn't he work now? Clues came out but nothing fit. Sherlock was mind locked, he was Johnlocked

"Dammit John..." The male mumbled under his breath "what would you have said?" He asked closing his eyes and imagined the average figure of the blonde male. His blue eyes looking around and then down to the broad figure of him.

"What are you doing Sherlock?" He asked

"Just... Concentrating..." The male mumbled as a slight smile formed on his lips as he opened his eyes but could still clearly see the image of his dear friend. Hear his voice and sniff out the slight scent of tea with a hint of gunpowder that he always associated with John.

"Why is there a cup of coffee laying on the coffee table?" The figure of John asked "isn't it odd? Your house is getting robbed and you have time to set your cup of coffee down?"

"That's it! The cup of coffee. It wasn't a break and entering. It was a planned murder made to look like that! The woman knew who her attacker was and set down the cup of coffee to open the door for him. He chocked her from the front and killed her. Probably rapped her as well and then took her necklace and some items that looked expensive. Then he left and punched the door from the outside. There is glass over her body, but not underneath! Just like two other cases where the victim was strangled from the front, raped, and the setting was made to be a break and entry gone wrong. But... They have nothing alike..." Sherlock was baffled once again.

"Are you sure they have nothing that's the same? Except how they died?"

"That's it. Except..." Sherlock remembered the photographs that he had been given "they were all photographed by the same photographer! He did it John. It was the photographer..."


	7. A Dying Wish

**((AN: If you don't cry in this chapter you have no heart. this took me several hours to write because I kept mentally stopping myself and sobbing. Yes, I'm a wimp but only when it comes to my pairings 3 so enjoy the waterworks~ :3))**

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-50 years later-

The only way Sherlock continued his career was by imagining John by his side doing what he usually did. Standing there and being the man's shadow and asking average questions that made Sherlock think clearer. It was the only way he could manage to work. The people around him thought he had lost his mind but nobody complained as long as he did his job and didn't hurt anybody during one of his 'phases' as they called it. Fifty years had passed since the dreadful day when he found out his best friend was dead and now the brunette laid in bed, his green eyes staring at the white walls around him that seemed to be closing in on him. How long had he been in the hospital? He couldn't remember, but he knew his time was coming to an end. He closed his eyes once he felt his hands shaking, he could still remember the day he got the letter from John. It was so clear that it felt like it was just yesterday. He opened his eyes, for the first time fear overwhelming Sherlock Holmes. He thought ever since he got his first grey hair that he would be ready for this day but he was wrong. Once again proven wrong for the second time in his life.

His eyes darted across the room, trying to find something to deduce but his mind was failing him. No one was around like he had deduced so many years ago; he would die alone. Tears filled his eyes as he slowly moved his hands to his chest, the letter tucked inside of his hospital clothes. Shakily, he pulled it out and unfolded it. His eyes squinting as he tried to get the blurriness from obstructing his vision as he read it over. The beeping of the heart monitor slowed the more he read, the paper was stained with dried tears and small rips from him crumbling and uncrumbling it. He let his fingers drag against the scrawled lettering, reading along to the words that had caused his heart to shatter.

Sherlock brought the note to his lips and kissed it before pressing it to his chest, shutting his eyes tightly and reaching into his mind palace like he had done so many times to retrieve the image of John that was so fresh to him once more. He opened his weary eyes and straightened himself a bit when the image was in front of him. "J-John..." He croaked out, tears slipping down his cheeks as he reached for him, hands quivering and his heart racing a little faster before slowing once again. "John," He couldn't help the smile that reached his lips saying the name of his departed partner.

"Sherlock~" blue irises looked at green and greeted the male with a flashing smile. "I see you haven't aged a bit. Still as dashing as ever." The ghost of John chuckled as he walked over and took a seat in the empty chair next to Sherlock's bed. "I said I'd come back didn't I?"

Sherlock smiled slightly, "Y-yeah you did," He chuckled and coughed a bit, "And don't lie to me, Watson, I look positively hideous," He murmured, taking deep gulps of air.

"You know I don't lie Sherlock. At least not to you. Who can ever lie to you?" The male smiled "you still look like the Sherlock I met when I first stepped into that small apartment flat." John took his hand in one of his own and used the other to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "I also promised I'd never leave you. Not to you directly. It's something I promised myself. Here I am. You're not alone Sherlock" he whispered "I'm right here."

The heart of the detective was pounding harder against his ribcage, it was a painful yet warm feeling. He squeezed his hand softly as a small smile began to form in the corner of his lips. He wasn't going to die alone, he'd die with John by his side...his John.

His eyes began drooping and the consulting detetive opened and shut his mouth as if he were a fist out of water. "J-John, I always wanted to tell you..." He breathed out, feeling as if staying awake was impossible.

"Shhh, you don't have to say anything alright. I know you aren't big when it comes to sentimental stuff" the man cupped his cheek and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm here as a friend Sherlock. Your friend. I know somewhere in your heart there was a small place for me." he smiled

Sherlock leaned into the touch unconsciously, seeing white in front of his eyes and the sound around him deafening until all he could see or hear was John. "John, you...you know...don't you?" He whispered, touching his hand that rested on his own cheek, gripping it as if it were his life line.

"I'm only guessing... But I love you Sherlock Holmes" the blonde smiled "and if I deduce correctly, nobody holds onto a friend for such a long time. You love me too..." He whispered lifting the hands of the cold male and pressing a kiss to his palm "now you get one request. It's not fair that I'd have one and you didn't."

The brunette closed his eyes, feeling his chest tightening as the monitor began beeping more and more slowly, "K...kiss me...please.." Sherlock whispered, his shaking hand holding John's tightly. "Th-thats all I want, John..." He murmured trying to open his eyes, but his vision was quickly fading.

Blue eyes locked with green for a slight second before both the men closed their eyes. Sherlock holding on to the figure of John as he slowly leaned in and softly brushed their lips in a gentle kiss. "I love you..." John whispered just before the machine rung with one loud and clear continuous beep and his image slowly disintegrated into thin air; the memory finally set free.


End file.
